


Unhealthy Secrets

by pherryt



Series: Star Trek Bingo [16]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst, Bottling Things Up, Child Death, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Secrets, jim is there for bones, losing a patient, parent child seperation, past canon deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 09:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: Leonard would argue that the secrets festering inside him hadn’t impaired his judgement in anyway, and in fact, that he’d done a pretty damn good job keeping a decent balance of the fears and hang-ups associated with his secrets,thank you very much.And then everything came crashing down...





	Unhealthy Secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThayerKerbasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThayerKerbasy/gifts).



> Check the end notes about the character deaths
> 
> thank you thayer for picking this square! Sorry it turned so very damn angsty. ;(

Leonard had never hidden the fact that when he'd joined Starfleet, he'd been running from something. He’d even _told_ Jim what that something was and thankfully, Jim had never dug any deeper. If anyone could understand and respect a need for privacy, it would be Jim, the boy born the day his father died.

If some days those untold secrets itched to get out, if there were days those secrets weighed on him more heavily than others, well... he'd just have to deal with that.

There was no good reason for sharing those secrets, other than to stir up old hurts and reopen wounds. The pain they held, Leonard kept close to his chest. What he didn’t tell anyone else, he told Jim, but even from Jim, Leonard would hide those few things back because he knew his best friend.

He knew that if he told Jim about his daughter, if he told her how his ex had made it impossible for Leonard to ever see the little girl again, he  _knew_ Jim would move heaven and earth, stirring up every hornet’s nest he could, to fix things.

It was one of the reasons Leonard loved him, after all. That generosity of spirit and pure determination.

But what would be the point? Leonard’s own daughter would be a stranger to him now, and if she remembered him at all, he’d be amazed. And even if Jim were successful, and Leonard could see her again, could rekindle that father daughter bond once more… if that were to happen, and something  _happened_ to Leonard out here in space…

The suffering that would put his daughter through for his own selfish reasons – no. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t break the stable life he knew she had. His ex and him may have rubbed each other the wrong way, she may have been vindictive about the divorce, but a few things were certain: she loved Joanna, and she was a  _good_ mother. Not even Leonard could deny that, though he may have discretely checked up on them a few times, just to reassure himself.

And beyond that, while there was the slight chance Jim might try and succeed in ‘fixing’ the first, there was no way Jim could help with the next. There was no way Jim could make Leonard feel better about his father. No way that he could wipe away the utter devastation Leonard had felt when he finally caved to his sick father’s wishes and given him what he wanted – only to have the solution fall into his grasp a mere few months later.

If only he could have convinced his father to hold on a few more months, David could have gotten better, could have been healthy again, and Leonard wouldn’t have his death on his conscience.

There was nothing Jim could do for that. Jim had lost his father, sure, but he hadn’t deliberately helped him on his way.

When Leonard had signed up for the Academy, both those hurts had been too fresh to speak of and now, years later, the edges had worn off enough that he could pretend he’d moved past them, that they didn’t affect him or his decisions, but he knew he was lying to himself. Every time there was a disaster or an epidemic that Sickbay had to take care of, Leonard was always the last one on his feet, unable to stop or rest.

He’d given up too early once before.

Never again.

While the rest of the crew had been devastated when Jim had been the one to fall, Leonard hadn’t been able to give up. Nurse Chapel had begged him, Doctor M’Benga had ordered him, even Spock had taken him aside to lecture Doctor McCoy on the futility of his hope.

But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t give up. Even when he thought he had, Leonard’s mind had kept running through any scenario it could conceive of.

And he’d been right. He’d won. He’d saved Jim, the best part of himself, that part that kept Leonard looking forward to each day. So no, Leonard would argue that the secrets festering inside him hadn’t impaired his judgement in anyway, and in fact, that he’d done a pretty damn good job keeping a decent balance of the fears and hang-ups associated with his secrets _, thank you very much._

Everything came crashing down – because of course it did – when they rescued a family from a capsule that had been floating dead in space for almost a week. There was scoring on its hull, like it’d come from a firefight, but if it had, Leonard didn’t think it would still be around, and Jim and Spock agreed. Whoever had started it wouldn’t have let the escape pod go.

As soon as they derelict escape pod was discovered, and weak lifeforms were registered aboard, Leonard dropped all speculation of how and where and why it came to be and left the bridge, trusting Jim to call down to sickbay ahead of him.

Whatever had really happened didn’t matter in the short term. While he and his staff worked, he knew Jim and Spock and the rest would investigate but that he’d likely be too busy to find out whatever they gleaned from the records, if the pod had any, unless they found something he _needed_ to know.

When he reached sickbay, his staff were already bustling about, prepping for anything and setting up quarantine protocols. It wasn’t even moments before they were ready; Leonard had the best staff in the fleet.

“It appears to be a family unit: two adults, one child, of human origin. Alive but unresponsive, likely unconscious. No records as of yet found,” Spock’s voice came over the sickbay intercom. “Transport underway on your mark, Doctor McCoy.”

Stealing himself, Leonard said gruffly, “Go.”

The whine of the transporter rang in his ears and when the sparkling dissolved, Leonard nearly stopped breathing.

It wasn't her. It wasn't  _his_ little girl, but staring down at the pale face, the dark hair, Joanna was all that he could see. If she opened her eyes, what color would they be?

In a daze, he worked with his staff, doing triage, assigning tasks.

But her, he took for himself.

Whatever ill luck the family had run into, it didn't seem to be spreading. They were injured, malnourished and ill, struck down by a bug that was, at least, not contagious, though it had taken far too long to ascertain that. Still, they'd taken all the precautions they could, they'd done the surgeries - but the family wasn't waking up.

And Leonard couldn't leave sickbay, couldn't leave their sides.

Couldn't leave the child who was too young to be the child he left behind, too many years had passed for that, but it didn’t stop from reminding him too much of the child his daughter had  _been_ every time he looked at his young patient _._

And she wasn't getting any better.

The parents had woken, groggily, and spoken to Jim about what had happened before lapsing once more, but the child still hadn’t. Their injuries had been treated to the best of their abilities, and the malnutrition was well on its way to being handled, but it would take _time_.

If it wasn’t for the disease, the family might recover, but it had taken too much of a toll on their bodies by the time the Enterprise had found them, and the energy needed to recover from their injuries was only sapping their defense against the disease.

The only good thing was that it _wasn’t_ contagious, but it wasn’t making _anything_ easier.

Leonard rubbed at his eyes blearily, and focused through the microscope once more. He’d never encountered this disease before and all their standard treatments weren’t helping. There wasn’t enough _data._

He growled lowly and had to clench his fists tight to keep from sweeping everything off the table. It would be childish, pointless, and ruin any chance he might have of helping her, of helping the family.

Jim hovered nearby, silent. Leonard had heard the door hiss open and though he hadn’t turned around to face Jim, Leonard could _feel_ him, _and_ his concern, his worry.

“Bones,” Jim said finally, quietly, calling from the door. Leonard ignored him, turning to check a test tube. Leonard heard footsteps walking slowly, deliberately towards him. “Bones,” Jim repeated.

“What?” Leonard snapped. He knew what Jim was here to say and he didn’t want to hear it. The data pad had flashed an alarm, a series of flatlines merely seconds before, possibly a minute, but if he could just… come up with something quick enough, there could still be time -

“Nurse Chapel said you weren’t answering your coms,” Jim said softly, sadly.

Leonard froze and choked. He forced himself to move again, refusing to turn around and look at Jim. He didn’t need to see that, his sympathy, the pity.

“Don’t have time. It’s not too late,” he said, his voice a croaking miasma that threatened to consume him.

Jim reached out and took Leonard by the shoulders, turning him gently. Leonard fought against the pull, but Jim was as determined as Leonard was stubborn.

“I’m sorry, Len, they’re gone. All of them,” he said gently.

“No, no, no, no,” Leonard choked out. His chest heaved with dread, with helplessness. He pulled against Jim’s arms. “No, I have to – Jim, you don’t understand. I can still fix this! I need to help her!”

“Leonard, it’s over, you’ve done what you could. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Jim held him tight as Leonard slumped forward into his arms, shaking. His head hit Jim’s shoulder and his breath hitched.

“I have to – Jim, please, I can’t – I can’t let it happen again…” he begged, clutching at Jim’s arms. “You don’t know…”

“But I  _do_ , Leonard,” Jim said softly. Leonard tried to back off, but succeeded in only pulling away to meet Jim’s eyes, sympathetic, understanding – filled with pain on Leonard’s behalf. “I  _do_ know,” Jim soothed, pulling him back in, running a hand through Leonard’s already messed up hair.

Leonard’s knees wobbled and went weak and he sagged in Jim’s arms, Jim sagging with him in a controlled drop to the ground, pulling him in close.

“Sorry, I wasn’t prying, I swear. But I know. I know about Joanna, and… and your father. I know,” Jim whispered. “That’s not her. She’s not your daughter. And your dad wasn’t your fault. Sometimes, you just can’t save everyone. All we can do is our best.”

He broke down, then, sobbing into Jim’s neck, clutching at Jim’s uniform as Jim soothed, and rocked him, stroked a hand through his hair, down his spine and murmured or hummed. All his secrets bubbled inside of him, churned and twisted, as Jim comforted him.

“C’mon, Bones, that’s it. Let it out Len, let it all out. Don’t let it keep festering inside of you, please,” Jim begged. “Do you know how much it hurts to see you in so much pain? How much I want to take that pain away from you?”

“When?” Leonard croaked around a sob. When had Jim found out his secrets? How long had he known? How could he have betrayed Leonards’ trust like that? Why was Jim’s presence so comforting, so easing, when he should be mad about that betrayal?

“When did I find out?” Jim asked. Leonard nodded. Sighing, Jim pulled him close. “I promise, I hadn’t meant to. Was planning a birthday surprise for you, after you so graciously surprised _me_ on mine. I started looking up your family and then… and then I felt guilty, when I realized what I’d discovered, when I thought about how you’d never told me. You didn’t _want_ me to know, so… I tried to pretend I didn’t. But I can’t pretend anymore. It’s killing you, Bones. These secrets are hurting you so damn much.”

“Please, let me help,” Jim whispered. “No more secrets, okay? You’re not alone, anymore.”

Leonard opened his mouth and choked, but nodded into Jim’s uniform.

“Okay…” he finally said.

They sat there awhile, Leonard pulling comfort from Jim. Maybe Jim was right. Maybe he _shouldn’t_ harbor these secrets, these painful weights that dragged at him. but he couldn’t talk then…

Later. They could do it later.

Jim soothed a hand over his hair and hummed and Leonard relaxed into the touch, finally let himself just be _comforted_ for the first time in… he didn’t even know how long, anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> There are several character deaths - both past and present - that are either mentioned / referred to in passing or happens during the course of the fic (but off screen):
> 
> 1 - jim's dad being dead is canon in both universes i believe, though i used AOS obviously for the references here  
> 2 - the thing with leonard's dad i took from original series canon  
> 3 - i mean, jim's death, as brief as it was was in the movie and he's not dead still so....
> 
> and so i figured none of them met the major character death criteria . however:
> 
> 4 - the off screen child death (and that of her family) i felt COULD Be triggering
> 
> it's a completely random family of made up characters that never even got a name - they were... well, they're _unknown_ characters - but do they qualify as minor or major? i've never figured that out - if they're crucial to the plot does that make them major characters? or woud only established canon characters count as major??


End file.
